


Warming Up a Ghost

by likehandlingroses



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 23:55:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17069624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likehandlingroses/pseuds/likehandlingroses
Summary: Alone and awakened to his own folly, Percy must navigate one of the most difficult questions of his life: how do you find a way back to the people you love most?





	Warming Up a Ghost

Even after he'd accepted that his family would always despise him, Percy sought comfort in his mental clock. It wasn’t nearly so precise as his mother’s, but he clung to its rhythms anyway: Bill at Gringotts, Dad in the Ministry, Mum and Ron at the Burrow, Ginny at Hogwarts, Fred and George in Diagon Alley, Charlie doing what he pleased far away from the madness. 

Over and over and over he ran through the list in his mind, with the occasional glimpse of a family member giving the repetition grounding, proof that they were really there, not so far off.  Real and present and living still. 

Only now, each and every one of them had disappeared. Vanished. The clock rang Missing, Missing, Missing, Missing...and still it played on a loop in Percy’s head, as if the chant would ward off something far worse: captured, imprisoned, dead. 

He had no doubt they were together, somewhere, and their willingness to leave him behind was the most damning evidence yet of how wretched he’d become in their eyes. He wasn't angry with them—they had no way of knowing they could trust him. That he even cared. And it was his own fault, his own fault entirely. He'd left first, and then he’d refused to come back.

Now it was too late. The Ministry would find them, or the Death Eaters would. Even Percy couldn't always be sure who was aligned with what, these days. You had to be careful. Quite careful. 

He was dreadful at it, had always been clumsy and tunnel visioned. One of these days, he was going to slip up, and if it weren't for the fact that he'd finally amassed enough information to make some real use of it, he would consider a fatal mistake a reprieve. 

It wasn't living, this thing he did every day. He didn't talk to anyone, not really. Nothing honest had come out of his mouth in months, and there was a real possibility nothing honest would ever come out of it again. He had to lie to collect the truth, but who was to say the truth would ever be asked for? 

And even if it was, after so much lying, would anyone believe him? 

He’d leave work and sit in his apartment, at the wobbly table he'd long stopped admiring for the simple fact that it was His. Evening after evening, he’d do little more than stare at the wall and wait for it to be late enough to go to bed. Then he’d lie there, unable to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time, until the sun came up and it was time to do it all over again. 

The last war had taken over a decade to play itself out. Could he manage it that long? He tried to picture himself, over thirty and still playing the fool in order to collect information that no one seemed to care about. 

Ten years. Mum and Dad would be properly grey by then, perhaps, if they lived. Bill...he’d be nearing forty. Would he bring children into a world poisoned by evil, as Mum and Dad had, or would he wait? Ron—who Percy suspected had never been in bed with spattergroit at all—would be lucky to survive so long, with Harry Potter as his constant companion. 

And yet, if they did...if they could...Harry had managed it once, hadn’t he? Perhaps he could do it again. 

But what if he wasn’t the Chosen One? What if, after all, he’d only been lucky? Luck wore out, as Percy well knew. And he could feel, day by day, his own luck thinning. 

Officials had called him in for questioning after his father and brothers had stopped showing up for work, after his childhood home had been found abandoned, and his sister had never arrived back at school. Percy hadn’t done a good enough job of feigning disgust when he heard the news. He was only a fair actor at best...and that day hadn’t been his best.

Though they couldn’t prove anything, Percy could sense their eyes following him down the halls, waiting for the slightest misstep. And—slowly, but without a doubt—Percy found himself gaining access to fewer private conversations, being spoken to less casually than before. People were turning cold, and it didn’t matter how effusive he tried to be in return. 

Perhaps the pendulum would swing back, in time.

But could he wait it out? he wondered, sitting on his bed and fiddling with the radio on the bedside table. He’d heard something strange today, from a witch in Transportation. Other modes of information besides the  _ Prophet _ , he’d heard her whisper. Deep down, he knew twiddling the dials wouldn’t do much good, but it was a break from routine, in any case. 

But the haphazard investigation broadcast nothing out of the ordinary at all. Desperate, he pointed his wand at the radio.

“The Order? Albus? Dumbledore? Potter...Harry?” 

Nothing.

“I don’t know what you want…” Percy murmured, choosing to ignore the fact that he wasn’t entirely sure the radio had anything to hide in the first place. “Is it a name? Do you want my name? I--I’m Percy Weasley, and I—”

Something clicked on the dial, and a voice came through, clearer than any station Percy had heard that night. 

“—you think Lord Folderol has noticed his potential followers are dwindling by the day? Here’s a tip for the old bastard: fear—funnily enough—puts people on edge. And people on edge have a tendency to leave the country when they’re in too deep.”

Percy’s fingers tightened around his wand. He was almost afraid to move it, for fear that whatever spell he’d cast would be broken. 

That was Fred’s voice, he was sure of it, though he hadn’t heard it in years. He was on the radio—Percy couldn’t imagine how—and he was laughing at He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. 

Of course he was. He was Fred. And he was alive, he was real, he was something other than missing. 

And if Fred was laughing, nothing could have gone very wrong with any of them. Not Mum or Dad or Ginny or anyone. 

They were fine. They all lived in Fred’s voice, in the way it carried across Percy’s bedroom and warmed it to the very corners. He could almost be home. Tears filled his eyes, and he didn’t waste any time trying to hold them back.

He let himself weep for what was lost and what had been found. What might still be found, if he just kept on. Ten years was nothing. If it would mean anything to anyone—if it would mean anything to  _ them _ \--he’d do it for a thousand. 

 

* * *

Aberforth hadn’t heard any alarms go off, but there the boy stood anyway, right in the middle of the pub. That fool that Scrimgeour and Fudge had both kept trotting at their heels. The Weasley who didn’t want to be a Weasley.

Albus had been so disappointed, so hopeful he might change his mind...of course  _ he _ had. For he’d given the boy so many responsibilities, so much trust...Albus couldn’t bear being wrong about a person. 

“Who the hell do you think you are, barging in here—”

“—I think you’ll find I have every right,” he replied, shoulders rolled back and stiff. “Percy Weasley. Junior Secretary to Minister Thicknesse. You’ll notice I asked for post-curfew clearance in the area. I thought it would be better to spare you a scene…”

He handed over a scroll, which Aberforth only glared at. 

“It will be much easier for you if that questionnaire is sent back in full as quickly as possible,” Percy said, pressing it into Aberforth’s hands. “I don’t imagine you’ll like who comes through here next any better than me.”

Aberforth broke the seal on the scroll and scanned down the list of questions:  _ “Please indicate if you have seen any suspicious or wanted persons in your place of business...please indicate if you have been contacted by any suspicious or wanted persons…failure to report could result in legal action…” _

“They bring a child in here to tell me what to do...cowards,” Aberforth grumbled. “All of you. You think just because you’ve won—”

“—the Order’s finished, then?”

Aberforth’s head shot up at Percy’s interruption. 

“Upstairs,” his hissed. “Now, you blasted fool!” 

The sitting room wasn’t safe for this sort of talk. Nowhere was safe for this sort of talk, especially for a Ministry official. The boy wanted to die, that was it. He was begging to get himself killed. Aberforth half wondered if he should go on and let him do it, even as he pushed him up the stairs. 

“What is this?” he said, turning on Percy the instant the sitting room door clicked shut. 

Percy, his cheeks flushed, pointed at the scroll with a shaking hand. 

“ _ That _ is a legitimate, legally binding document that I encourage you to answer with as convincing a lie as you can.” 

“But you’re not here for that,” Aberforth said, putting the pieces together as he looked Percy over again. 

Percy only shook his head. He was young to begin with, but he looked even younger in the dim lights, his eyes wide, the flush on his skin now faded, making the freckles stick out on a pale canvas. 

“The Order’s disbanded,” Aberforth said, turning his back on him. “It’s lost its teeth and had to go back to sulking in the corner.”

“But things might change,” Percy said, stepping closer.

“Not likely,” Aberforth said, turning back to him with some reluctance. “Why should it worry you? You made your choice, and it paid off.”

Percy’s mouth opened and shut wordlessly a few times. 

“I didn’t choose any of this! Or I...I didn’t mean to,” he insisted. “I wish I’d never—I’d rather be with them. Or dead, or...anywhere else. Doing  _ anything _ else.”

Aberforth laughed. “And you want me to give you an assignment, is that it? Something stupid, so you can go out in a blaze of glory”

Percy swallowed.

“I only thought...if you knew anything, if you knew what I could do—”

“—there’s nothing for you to do,” Aberforth said. “Nothing for any of us to do.”

“Still,” Percy pressed, looking almost manic. “If there  _ were _ .”

Aberforth shook his head. The kid may have wised up about the Ministry, but he was still a fool. 

“I’ll have this form sent back tomorrow,” he said, turning his back on Percy yet again. “You see yourself out.” 

But Percy didn’t move, and for a moment, there was an awful silence. Being alone was just fine with Aberforth. But silence between two people? He couldn’t stand it. 

Then Percy spoke, and that was even worse. 

“Is that your sister? Ariana?” he asked, pointing at the portrait. “It’s dreadful, the way they’ve turned it into a scandal...as if it weren’t awful enough on its own.”

He trailed off, oblivious to Aberforth’s scowl. Then, his eyes still intent on the picture, he spoke again. 

“I thought my sister died once; I couldn’t bear it. I thought I’d die as well. I might have, I think, if she hadn’t come back.”

So he didn’t want to die, and he didn’t want to be a hero. It was about them. His family. Or maybe just his sister, Aberforth didn’t know. It wasn’t his business. 

Only now it  _ was  _ his business. 

“Look here,” he said, and Percy jumped out of the half-trance Ariana’s portrait had put him in. “I can’t promise you anything. But if something happens—and I don’t think anything will—I’ll reach out.”

“Would you?” Percy beamed, looking for all the world as if Aberforth had gotten the moon down out of the sky for him. “And it doesn’t need to be anything very grand;  if there’s any news or...or things I could do...really  _ anything— _ ”

Aberforth nodded vacantly, eager to get Percy out of his pub. He liked him better than he had ten minutes ago. Much better. But that was the trouble with liking people, with seeing yourself in them. It hurt. More than anything else ever could. 

“You take care of yourself, boy. Right?”

“I will,” Percy said, nearly tripping down the stairs. “Absolutely, I will. And you’ll...yes, I’ll be...I’ll be fine. Thank you. Thank you!” 

And with another click of the door, he was gone.

* * *

 

There had been a part of Ginny that had assumed she would never really talk to Percy again. She hadn’t liked the thought, but she couldn’t stop the morbid strain in her mind, that gloomy, self-pitying place. And in that place, Percy never came back, no matter how badly she wanted him to. 

And she  _ had  _ wanted him to, she realized as she stared intently at the back of his head. She’d wanted it more than almost anything in the world. 

Oh, she hadn’t missed the Percy who shouted at their father, or the one who said stupid things to reporters. The one who wouldn’t even look at her at Christmas could stay well away, too. 

But her brother Percy, the one she’d known her whole life, who had kept her poems no matter how silly they were, who knew she flew her brothers’ brooms and never told them, who swung at Charlie once for calling her a baby (Charlie had laughed so hard they’d all forgotten to be mad at each other)...that Percy could always come home. 

She didn’t even mind if he was a little nosy or fussy from time to time. Sometimes it was nice, to have a brother who poked around a bit. Being left alone could be a dreadful thing. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said, and Percy turned to look at her. He was so tired, so pale, and a chill went up Ginny’s spine. It was like talking to a ghost—not some relic from the Middle Ages, but someone who had been alive until moments ago. 

Perhaps he  _ hadn’t _ come home, quite yet. 

“I shouldn’t have distracted him,” Percy murmured. “I should have seen—”

“—will you listen to me?” Ginny said, so loudly she knew she was bound to wake someone up. But to whisper would mean having this conversation on the ghost’s terms, and she couldn’t do that. You had to shake that sort of thing out of people. “You missed my birthday three years in a row.  _ That _ was your fault. You didn’t visit Dad when he almost died. That was your fault. You made Mum cry...I don’t even know how many times. That’s your fault. You want me to go on?”

Percy looked like he might be sick. “I’m sorry—”

“I know it,” Ginny said. ”We all know it. And it’ll be okay. All of it. And if it’ll be okay after all the things that were  _ really _ your fault...don’t you think it’s silly to start making things up to be angry with yourself about?”

Percy shook his head, and there was just enough sharpness in the gesture to signal life. Ginny stepped closer, less afraid of that terrible, sucking coldness around him. 

“It’s not that simple,” Percy said. 

“You’re talking to someone who set a monster loose at school.” Ginny managed a twisted smile. “I know it’s not easy; but you have to try and believe it anyway. You remember what you told me that summer?”

Again, Percy shook his head, though this time he seemed wrapped up in Ginny’s words. 

“You said I’d been away for quite long enough already, and I shouldn’t let something that’s past keep me away for longer.”

Percy’s brow knit. “ _ I  _ said that?”

“Yeah,” Ginny said. “You were really good after it all happened, actually. I was so worried you’d be the angriest at how stupid I’d been...but I think you were just glad it was over.”

“I was afraid,” Percy blurted out, and he wasn’t whispering any more. “I was so afraid, all the time, that something would happen to you.”

Ginny knew he wasn’t talking about that year. Not really. 

She didn’t want to cry—she’d done so much crying already—but it couldn’t be helped. To her surprise, the gap between her and Percy wasn’t cold, and neither was he. 

Of course he wasn’t—he was her brother. Her bossy, loudmouthed know-it-all, mini-Mum brother. And he’d come home. 

“It’s going to be awful,” she said, still holding him tight, like she hadn’t since she was small. He’d never teased her for crying. “Probably for a really long time. But it’ll be worse if you’re off somewhere else.”

She looked up at him, and he nodded, wiping his eyes, 

“You’re certainly right about that.”

“I’m right about everything,” Ginny said with a smile. “Now, will you at least pretend to sleep? It does actually help.”

“Now, _ that’s _ something I know you heard from me,” Percy said, letting Ginny lead him back up the stairs. 

“And you heard it from Mum, so what?” Ginny retorted, feeling herself relax. 

The house was getting warmer, and she knew how to keep it that way. 


End file.
